


Roses are Red...

by JessicaPendragon



Series: Canon Keela Lavellan [40]
Category: Dragon Age, Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-21
Updated: 2017-02-21
Packaged: 2018-09-26 03:37:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,705
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9860705
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JessicaPendragon/pseuds/JessicaPendragon
Summary: A suitor comes to sweep the Inquisitor off her feet.Tumblr Link





	

Rylen wasn’t here to witness the first foray to the Winter Palace a year ago and it’s been something to see Keela in this element. Upon her throne she is glass, born of flame with jagged edges should you seek them out, but her intent is always clear. Here she is opaque obsidian, fire cold and sharp everywhere, a deadly beauty you can’t help but want to touch regardless. He isn’t deeply fond of Orlais, but he likes her in it, to see her thrive amongst this sea of warped reflections, unmasked and unstoppable.

It’s all, she’s… _Maker_ , it’s rightly unfair how irresistible it makes her. He hasn’t admitted it although he’s sure she knows anyhow. She’d preen her pretty little feathers to hear it though, mouth curling with some tart joke at his expense, but it might be worth it for a little bit of her throaty laughter, to have a chance to have her break and let him shove her into some alcove and get these pompous tongues really wagging. She’s not helping matters either with the way she’s staring at him now over the ripe strawberry trapped between her teeth.

“Didn’t your maw ever tell you not to play with your food, Inquisitor?”

She smiles, lips painted red with the fruit, and he tightens his grip on the pommel of his sword. _Blasted, confounding woman_. “The anticipation makes it taste better, wouldn’t you agree?”

He shakes his head, stepping closer and dropping his voice, wondering if even here she’ll squirm at the sound of it. Neither of them get to find out as another speaks over him. “Inquisitor Lavellan, Your Worship?”

An Orlesian stands at the edge of the patio Keela has been sunning herself on for most of the afternoon. Rylen doesn’t have to see beneath the mask to get the beat on this fellow - just a wee lad by the looks of it, nervous to boot by the way his hands can’t decide where to go. Not a threat then, only a nuisance, and he lets out a long sigh to make it known.

Keela’s expression mirrors his displeasure. “Yes?”

“If…if I may introduce myself? I am Roman d'Aubigné, eldest son and heir to Duke d'Aubigné.”

“And what is it you want from the Inquisitor, Roman d'Aubigné?”

The boy takes a breath and straightens his back, youthful determination stretching across his face. “I was wondering if Your Worship has seen the exotic Celosia flowers in the east garden?”

“I do not believe I have.”

Roman brightens up at this. “Then you must before the blooms wilt away. They are not native to these lands, you see, and it is an opportunity that should be not be squandered. I would be honored to show you, Your Worship.”

Rylen has to stop himself from laughing. The son of Duke d’Soandforth is brave, he’ll give him that, but he’s witnessed Keela tear apart greater prey than this. There’s not a chance that- “I accept your offer.”

“Are you mad?” he says in Keela’s ear as she stands.

“I’m bored, and the look on your face is worth it,” she replies as she sweeps passed and loops her hand through a proffered arm. He stays a few paces behind the entire way there and silently screams listening to Roman’s endless prattle. Keela only makes it worse, encouraging him more with her questions, and Rylen doesn’t miss the teasing glances for only him to notice. _Loathsome, hellish woman_.

“The flower also has a few other names. Woolflower, mfungu, or cockscomb.” Rylen snorts at that and she turns her head fully to him then, nose crinkling up with amusement. “Oh, forgive me! That sounds-”

Keela pats Roman’s hand. “How do you know so much about horticulture? Is it a family tradition?”

“N-no, I…I read about it, Your Worship. You have been proclaimed a great pursuer of knowledge and I wanted to be an apt guide.”

 _Maker’s balls_ , but this boy does know what he’s doing after all. With her own little game momentarily forgotten Keela practically glows with the praise, the vain creature. “Is that so? Well, do continue. I would not want all that preparation to go to waste.”

The flowers are flowers. Red flowers. Red, cock shaped flowers indeed. That’s Rylen’s assessment when they finally reach them. He doesn’t see the appeal and he knows Keela couldn’t care less about them either, but she is sure to ham it up, making a scene as she leans over to breathe in their scent. The low bodice of her dress offers a greater view than any damned vegetation could and the way her dress clings to her form as she does so is right sinful. Rylen can practically hear Roman, whose face has turned as dark as the flowers, swallow from this distance at the sight.

“Your Worship, I-” Roman moves fast suddenly, jolting Rylen’s heart, but the noble only falls to one knee. “I must be honest. I did not wish to simply show you the flowers here. They are weeds compared to the rare radiance that is before me now. I am sure you have many suitors, but I have much to offer. As the son of the Duke there are few who offer more in terms of resources and status. Yet it is not my title I would offer you, but my heart. I…I have written you a poem to express my admiration for you. May I read it?”

If his eyebrows weren’t attached Rylen feels sure they would be halfway to the heavens by now. A poem, what an enterprising lad. He waits for Keela’s refusal. There have been a good many suitors since the Inquisitor closed the Breach but she has shot them all down with the precision of a guillotine barreling down. She surprises him again, however, by slowly sitting on the bench behind her and gesturing for Roman to continue.

Rylen doesn’t catch all the words. There’s a lot of talk of flowers, naturally, and something about the rain and the sun. His attention is on her. There’s amusement all a’sparkle in her eyes at first, as if she thinks this is all some comedy playing out before her, but as Roman begins a stanza praising the strength of her mind, _like roots sunk deep into the earth_ , Keela’s expression changes. She’s flattered - not the fake kind where she grins without mirth, but the kind that makes her silent, speechless, and Rylen is at once impressed and guilty, for there is a longing to her that for various reasons makes him glad they are all but alone.

When the recital is done there is a moment’s pause as Keela takes a breath and lets her eyes shut. They open and it is the Inquisitor that looks out at the world again - no more quivering heart or teasing tongue, only silk and steel and something unreachable. “You have truly moved me. Not even the Emperor himself had such humbling things to say to me the other day during our long walk together.”

Roman’s eyes widen at the implication and Rylen thinks it’s the kindest refusal she’s ever given. “I, the Emp…? I did not know the Emperor was courting you, Your Worship. Forgive me, I did not mean to leap beyond-I should not have-”

“Perhaps not, but I appreciate your kind words all the same. Even if no more than my appreciation can be given in return.”

There is a little more discussion before Roman, heir to the noble d'Aubigné house, tucks tail with deserved dignity and disappears from sight. In the quiet that comes from his absence, Rylen isn’t sure what to say. He’s not good at this… _this_ , poems and proclamations and promises, and anything he says now would sound hollow after all that pageantry, but Keela’s looking at him thoughtfully, waiting for something, so he blurts the first thing that comes to his mind.

“The Emperor’s courting you?”

She makes a noise, rolls her pretty eyes, but he thinks there’s relief rolling around with annoyance too. “No, but of course he tried. He was foolish for asking, and knows it, but he had to all the same.”

It’s not the place to confess anything, not the time, but there will be a time he thinks. A time when they’ll both have to face what is between them, what will become of them beyond this private game they’ve been playing for too long. Put a name to it and be done, one way or another. He doesn’t mind it so much, believing he is content to have whatever is given, but he knows she doesn’t feel the same no matter how hard she tries to pretend otherwise. Maybe once, but things have changed.

For now he puts a little swag in his step as he moves and helps her stand, a little extra performance in his accent as he keeps her hands in his. “Didn’t know you liked all that poetry stuff, lass. Could’ve asked me to whip you up something sweet.”

“You do not _ask_ for romantic gestures, Rylen. Then they are no longer romantic.”

“Fine. How’s this?” He pulls her close, too close for propriety’s sake, but she doesn’t protest here hidden by ivy and sculpted shrubbery. He grips her tight, feels the realness of her through the thin dress she wears, and resists biting her ear when he leans close to whisper. “Roses are red, violets are blue. When I finally get you alone tonight, I’m going to ruin you.”

If there was a chance that no one knew their whereabouts it is ruined now as Keela lets out loud laughter, her face breaking out into one of those smiles that makes the sun seem a pale imitation of light, and he takes pride in it - that he has created it without fancy words and lavish praise, that it’s for him in this moment. She curses him, but the hesitation from their first night here is gone as she leans up and kisses him soundly without a care to who might see. He’s not sure if it’s the romance in the air or something else, but he won’t complain. _Beautiful, wonderful woman_.


End file.
